TES Lost Hero: Twin Prophecies
by justJacob95
Summary: Five years after the events of TES 5: Skyrim, the Last Dragonborn, a Nord named Soren, finds himself without work. Dragons have fled to Akavir and Skyrim is controlled by the Empire. A new threat is rising and Soren must side with an unlikely ally to defeat an ancient enemy that should have died long ago. I do not own the Elder Scrolls, or Skyrim. Bethesda owns the rights.
1. Prologue

**Act 1**

**Prologue**

**The Calm Before the Storm**

The images collected within the crystal ball; two individuals, one a Man, the other an Elf. Both were once tied by prophecy, which changed the world around them forever. Little did they know, that they would need to serve Tamriel again; for darker days and darker enemies are on the horizons of Oblivion and they are not coming with mercy.

Two beings: one eternal and the other, something else, conversed over these images.

"So, Lord of Pages, do you really believe that you can be safe here forever?" the dark mass of tentacles spoke to the elf.

"I believe that two inefficient mortals are no match for me. One of them wasn't a match for me long ago; both of them will stand no chance now. Even with me in my weakened state." the elf said with great pride.

"Your time on Tamriel was longer than it should have been, even for someone of your race. Your time should have ended as that of a hero to your people. Instead you betrayed them."

"Betrayed them? I took power when it was practically given to me! Anyone would have done the same! We all knew what was going to happen! We knew the day would come when we would pay for our mistakes!" the elf paused, took deep breathes, and continued. "The time for regret has passed. Now it is time for me to regain what was rightfully given to me long ago."

"The way you gained that power long ago has left that world willingly. How will you hope to regain it without your original method?" the dark matter spoke again.

An image appeared on one of the pages in the elf's hands. "I guess I'll just have to find it and take it myself." he said with a smug sprawled across his face.


	2. Act 1: Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Peace and Quiet**

The crystal blue waters of Lake Ilinalta hummed with the sound of peace and quiet. Dragonflies whistled over the short waves as fished eked out their lives in the waters below. Birds from above shrieked and chirped on as the sun graced the land with its warmth. Falkreath was quiet now that the Dragons had left. No small notion on part of a young Nord named Soren, the Dragonborn.

Five years had passed by since the Alduin Crisis was ended. Not unlike the Vampire Crisis and the Miraak Crisis, the Alduin dilemma had kept Soren tied to his homeland. For fear that one day a new evil may rise again in this land and plague the peace that he had brought to it. Even the Civil War was brought to an end by Soren's hands. Ulfric Stormcloak was finally killed within the walls of his burning city and his head was sent back to Cyrodiil, along with General Tullius.

Jarl Elisif relied heavily on the Dragonborn's aid in the next few years after the Sacking of Windhelm. Defeating everything from Dragons to Troll packs, from Spriggans to Stormcloak Remnants. Several years passed by and Soren had had enough fighting for one lifetime. At age 24, Soren put away his sword and armor, built a manor in Falkreath, and settled down on the banks of Lake Ilinalta.

Two years have passed since then, and Soren has no wife or a family of any kind. To be fairly honest, he prefers it that way. Ever since he learned that his mother died of childbirth and his father was killed by the Dark Brotherhood, Soren had learned that maybe he was better off alone. The mystery of why the Dark Brotherhood killed his father has always been a mystery to him. And after what he did to their last Sanctuary, he probably may never know.

Soren had left an impression on Skyrim from his many great feats, and he believed that those feats would only grow as the days went on. He soon realized that he had became infamous and soon enough, began to fear for his health; a feeling that may, one day, save his life. For on one night in Soren's continued stories, a group of Nightblades decide to spill Dragon's Blood.


	3. Act 1: Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Nightblades**

_Soren's POV_

I never knew that retirement could be so….so….boring at times. There are often nights when I wish a Dragon would fly over the house, I'd chase after it, and swallow its soul. It's a rather brash way to look at it, don't get me wrong, but I do miss the old days. Many from Falkreath tell me that I deserve to settle down, start a family, and live out the rest of my life in my home. Part of me thinks that that is what's best, but the other half feels like a Dragon inside me, waiting to set off on adventures.

The Greybeards continued to teach me until even I surpassed them. I could speak the Voice without actually saying or shouting it. All I had to do was say the words in my mind and the effects would still occur. After realizing that they could no longer teach me, I left my old masters behind. I now had no one to turn to in order to seek knowledge of the Voice. Paarthurnax had taken every Dragon with him to Akavir, for fear that my lust to kill Dragons would only spread with their continued presence on Nirn. And with that, I was without purpose.

Two years. Two years, and not a single job or quest or adventure to take on. Not one contract that had need for my skills. Not even any of the Jarls were asking me to clear out bandit hives. The response was always the same, "Let the town guard handle it, Dragonborn.". Despite how much faith the Jarls had in their guards, I felt like they didn't need me anymore. So, for the longest time, I felt like leaving.

I figured that maybe heading back to Cyrodiil wasn't so much of a bad idea. I'd sell the manor and take the long leg work back to my old home in Bruma. There, I'd probably work as a smith or a mercenary, if I could find the work to do so. The night I had decided to do all of this, was the night that everything changed, in regards to where I would venture off too next.

I entered the house after a long day of fishing down at the Ilinalta. Something didn't feel right. The candles were out, the manor was dark, and the only scent in the air was that of melting wax from the old candles on their sconces. Even the fire in the living room was put out, which was what happened next a little less surprising.

A dark figure in chitin plate armor emerged from the obscurity of the corner of the living room, daggers in hands. I unsheathed Qahnaarin, my Dragonbone Sword, and met the assassin head-on. He lept over my head and tried to get a shot at the back of my neck, but I kept my eye on him a turned to knock one blade from his hand. The other hand was removed from his arm when I launched a counterstrike against him. This amputation was followed by my blade piercing through his ribcage and carving through his lung. Qahnaarin was ripped from his torso as blood spewed out from the gaping hole it had left in him. He fell to the floor, dead.

Another assassin, who thought I couldn't hear him, leapt down from the balcony above me. He pulled out a short, rapier-like blade and readied himself. I held my blade to my shoulder to show him his comrade's blood. "Mines bigger, pal."

He charged at me, yelling furiously as he sent attack after attack against me. I parried, blocked, and dodged every attack he threw in my direction. I ended his flailing around with Qahnaarin catching one of his arms. The tip of the blade went right through the bicep of the arm that wielded his sword. I noticed him trying to reach for a dagger on his belt with his other hand. I responded by head butting him in the nose. This threw his head back into the wall behind him. I used my other hand to grab his face and repeatedly slam his skull into the wall. Blood splattered along the wall and the assassin fell in a crumpled heap.

I gathered my senses and ran outside to see if there were more. No surprise to me, but an arrow flew right past my head as soon as I ran out the door. I dived for the nearest pile of logs and searched for the archer. After taking several peaks, I came to the conclusion that the assassin was hiding in the trees above me. I figured, I could try flushing this guy out of the trees.

I rose from my cover and lobbed a fireball at one of the trees, which exploded as debris went flying in every direction. The assassin fell from the shacking tree that was slowly falling away. He lifted his bow and fired another two arrows at me before I found cover again. I was now hiding behind the small fence that surrounded the manor. I figured that if I could get this guy close enough to me, I'd have the advantage. But, he kept backing up and moving to a position to flank me.

I ran the words through my mind and spoke them clearly in my head. WULD NAH KEST! I shot forward at the speed of light, blade in a wide swing. When I emerged from the dash, my blade was coated with extra blood, I had finished a full swing, and the archer lay headless on the ground. With that, all of the Nightblades were finally finished.

I finally relaxed. I sheathed Qahnaarin and looked around at the death that I had caused; the three Nightblades that were killed by my hands. Who are they? Who sent them?

I walked up to the dead archer. "Well, time to find out who you are."

I looked down at his head, which was hewed from his neck. I slowly removed it from the chitin plated mask that hid it. And what I saw next, I couldn't explain.

(The Nightblades were wearing chitin plate armor from the Dragonborn DLC in Skyrim. Soren was wearing some raggedy clothing. The manor I'm referring to is the one from the Hearthfire DLC in Falkreath. Sorry, I'm not the best writer in the world.)


	4. Act 1: Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Searching for Answers**

The eyes, they were green with a hint of blue in them. The skin, it was golden, but also pale. He was old, like, really old. This wasn't a High Elf, he wasn't tall enough. From what I had read from several books at the College of Winterhold on Elves, this assassin carefully resembled a Chimer.

"This doesn't make any sense." I spoke to myself. I kept trying to think about how three Chimer could still be alive. The entire race was transformed after the Battle of Red Mountain; when the Heart of Lorkhan was struck by Kagrenac and all of the Dwemer disappeared. When the wicked Tribunal became immortal deities and their followers became the Dark Elves. Then, how was it that three Chimer didn't suffer the same fate?

I needed answers. I needed them fast. Before more of these Nightblades came back to finish the job. I packed my crossbow, provisions, water, and Qahnaarin. I packed it all onto my horse, Frostfall, and rode on to Winterhold.

17 hours later

I arrived in the snow covered wasteland of Winterhold. The College was the only thing here that was really worth visiting in this entire hold. The entire city, the city that rivaled Solitude's beauty, fell into the sea long ago. Many blamed the College, many still do as well. However, I feel that the cause of Winterhold's destruction was the unjust cause of Red Mountain's effects after the Red Year. However, this wasn't the mystery that had drawn me to Winterhold.

I had to find out why and how three Chimer decided to attack me at my own manor. I passed through the remains of Winterhold and went across the ruined stone bridge of the College. The blinding snow made it tough to stay on the frozen, stone bridge, as usual. But, nevertheless, I managed to cross the bridge and enter the College. I went straight to the Arcanaeum and its caretaker, Urag.

"Urag!" I shouted as I entered the Arcanaeum. I walked up to the desk that Urag took up and where he watched over his "Own little plane of Oblivion", as he called it. He looked up and noticed me right away.

"Soren! It's been a while since you brought in that Elder Scroll. What can I do for you? Or what can you do for me?" he asked, suddenly intrigued. He stood up to meet me as I walked up to the front of the desk.

"No, this is a matter that you'll find more interesting than an Elder Scroll. A trio of Chimer attacked me at my home out in Falkreath. They didn't survive, but I want to know one thing, have any other Chimer, other than the Tribunal that are still alive?"

Urag stared at me in shock; almost as though I was crazy. "Soren…are you drunk?"

"Urag, I'm being serious. They were definitely Chimer; pale, golden skin, greenish-blue eyes, pretty tall?"

Urag looked into a catalogue of races and went to the page that had the Elven word for Chimer on it. He looked it over and then returned to me. "Looks like it. Are you absolutely sure they were Chimer?"

"Definitely, they were wearing armor that I've seen Dark Elves wearing on Solstheim. I don't think it was coincidence."

"Hmm…well, this is all that I have on what you're asking for. Sorry. I wish I had more, but, sadly, my resources are limited as getting into Mournhold, past all the An-Xileel blockades, is harder than it may seem to you than me." he said, disappointedly.

"Mournhold? What is there in Mournhold?" I asked him.

"Rumor has it, that there's a library in the Clockwork City of Sotha Sil. If you go there, you might find the information you need. Now, if you're going to get past the An-Xileel patrols and blockades, you're going to need one of their own with you to vouch for you."

"I have some friends in Windhelm that will help me with that, don't worry. Thanks, Urag. I owe you one."

"Forget about it. You're Blood Kin to me. It's the least I can do for what you've done for us here at the College. Good luck in Morrowind. You're going to need it." he said as I turned around and started walking towards the exit.

"Oh I know it." I shook my head and left the College. My new destination was Mournhold. Just another long walk.


	5. Act 1: Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Argonian Assemblage**

_Windhelm_

I stopped in Windhelm, first thing, next day. I stopped by the docks where the Argonians worked. They didn't live in very spacious, comfortable spots, but it was the best they were given. Even after the Empire took over in Windhelm, the Argonians still didn't get equal treatment. I had managed to sway their boss over a few years ago to increase their pay, so they liked me at least.

I would've figured that they wouldn't take anything from the Nords after what they did to Morrowind two years ago. The An-Xileel in Black Marsh managed to launch a strike against the Dark Elves, in retaliation for a small raid a Dunmeri bandit clan launched against the Argonian border. This offensive was worse than the one after the Red Year. Mournhold, Necrom, Sadrith Mora, and even the capital city of Blacklight were lost to the Argonians. A few months after Blacklight fell, the An-Xileel launched an offensive against Solstheim, seizing the island, and burning Raven Rock to the ground.

The Dunmer were reduced to the inner island of Vvardenfell, where they held off the An-Xileel Armed Forces with a small resistance force. This Resdayn Resistance is still active today, but it is surrounded on all sides. It's low on supplies, low on soldiers, and low on time. The An-Xileel press forward against them with each passing day, and it's only getting worse. Even so, they managed to get some of their best spies into inland Morrowind. So, the An-Xileel are doubling their patrols in order to get a catch on some Dark Elf spies.

This only meant that I needed to get someone I could trust to grant me safe passage through Morrowind. I figured that the only one that would be willing to help me would be Scouts Many-Marshes, who was kind of the leader of the Argonians on the docks. I entered Windhelm and went outside to the docks. The stone cold steps down to where the boats were kept were soon met by many reptilian faces and very few human faces.

I spotted Scouts on the far pier, scrubbing the side of the boat. "Many-Marshes!"

He looked back and spotted me. He rose up and walked over to greet me. "Soren! It's been too long, friend. Way too long."

"Indeed it has." we met up on the other pier and embraced shortly. "I need a favor."

"Of course, friend. Whatever you need."

"I need your help getting to Mournhold. Its urgent." we both stopped, dead in our tracks.

I knew what he was going to say next. He may not like the way he's treated in Windhelm, but Scouts wasn't the Argonian who would just leave his people.

"Soren…I can't just leave my egg brothers and sisters here. They need leadership down here. I can't leave anyone else in charge of the docks. If I do, Shatter-Shield will dwindle their pay to about nothing."

I gave it some thought. There had to be another way to get to Mournhold without dragging Scouts along with me. "Is there another way? Another way to gain safe passage?"

Scouts paced up and down the dock a few times, thinking of how to get me through Morrowind. He returned after a short while and spoke. "There is one way. It involves the Hist. If you coat your body with the sap of a Hist tree, you'll get admittance through An-Xileel territory."

I was surprised with what he was saying. "Where would I get the sap of a Hist tree?"

"Well, you'd usually have to go to Black Marsh and extract the sap from one of the trees. However, you are in luck; Neetrenaza's cousin managed to smuggle a Hist sapling over here to Windhelm a few months ago. We've been caretaking it here in the Assemblage. You can take some of the sap, as the favor you're asking of me."

I didn't have to think it over. If Scouts had Hist sap, and that was the only way I could get to Mournhold, then I had to take this opportunity. "I'd appreciate that, thank you, Scouts."

"We'll get you sapped up and ready to go in no time." he walked me into the Assemblage where the Hist tree stood tall and proud.

"Does the sap stink?" I had to ask him.

"Not if you're an Argonian. But, you'll be fine." he said, trying to reassure me. But, I knew what the sap does to non-Argonians. But, still, I didn't have a choice.

"Alright let's do this." I stepped forward and prepared myself for the Hist sap.


	6. Act 1: Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Mournhold**

The sap definitely smelt horrible. Not only that, but it made me nauseous beyond belief. Still, if it would get me to Mournhold, then I was all for dealing with it for a few days. After all, my skin felt tougher.

"Hey, Scouts, is my skin suppose to be this tough?" I asked him.

He looked at it closely, nodding his head as he looked. "Yes. Hist sap fills in the pores of your skin and makes them stronger. It's a natural effect when Hist sap is applied to the flesh."

I instantly became curious. I had to ask him what else the sap could do. "What if I took the sap into my system? Would it kill me?"

He looked me in the eyes. "Eventually, it might. It depends on who the subject is and their physicality."

"So, someone like me?"

"Could probably survive a few doses."

"How much at a time?"

"Very little, but it would be enough for a Nord. Are you sure you want to?" he asked. I knew he would be concerned.

I saw the sheer strength and tenacity that the Hist gave Argonians in the past. The only thing I had never seen it used on was something non-reptilian. Granted that anything from Black Marsh should never be given to some not indigenous to the province. However, I had heard several accounts from the Fighter's Guild that some other mercenary guilds used Hist sap on their members in order to increase their prowess in battle. Hopefully, it would do the same for me.

"Yeah I'm sure." I ensured him that I felt that I'd be fine.

"Alright. Don't take too much at once."

_Several hours later_

I took some of the sap with me and left Windhelm behind. Not too long after leaving the stone walls of the city did I find myself in Morrowind. Red Mountain was billowing gray clouds into the air, which eventually fell down to the earth below and coated the ground in ash and dust. Long plains and rolling hills covered the ash-filled landscape. Flora and fauna so alien to the other provinces flourished wildly across the environment, and I forgot I was still on Tamriel.

As soon as I got deeper into the border of Morrowind, I found myself passing an An-Xileel patrol every twenty minutes or so. They took one look at the sap coated skin on my arms and legs and moved along, not even giving it a second thought. Some of them eyed me a little, but I suppose that was only normal for them to be distrusting of outsiders. After all, they've never trusted them ever since they met a non-reptilian so long ago.

On the second day of my journey, I came across a strange crew of soldiers in An-Xileel armor. One of them raised his hand.

"Halt! This road is off limits for civilians!" he shouted. I felt immediately concerned. Not because I had been on this road for a day without being told to get off, but that he was a Wood Elf.

"I've been on this road for several days now and I haven't been asked to step off of it." I assured the soldier, who I was starting to doubt was even a member of the An-Xileel.

An Orc stepped forward now, wearing An-Xileel armor like the Wood Elf in front of him and the two Redguards behind him. "Well, you're being asked to do so now. Get off or else."

I put my hand on Qahnaarin. "Or else what?"

They all started to arch around me. "Do you really want to know the answer to that, boy?" one of the Redguards spoke.

I decided not to wait for their attack. Energy built up inside me until I couldn't hold it in any longer. The Voice spoke out from within me. _YOL TOOR SHUL! _A pillar of flame emerged from my mouth and shot straight toward my two opponents that were in the center of the arch. The Wood Elf and one of the Redguards were burnt to a crisp and fell to the ground dead.

The other two advanced against me, brandishing their weapons. The Orc swung wide with a greatsword, intent on severing me in half. I pulled my shield, Dovahgarde, from its tie on my pack. I put it up just in time to catch the brunt end of his swing. The swing ricocheted back and threw the Orc back. I charged forward with Qahnaarin and started slashing at him. His gauntlets caught most of the strikes, but one or two managed to graze his chest plate. These strikes made him back up a little to catch his bearings and find my weakness.

The Redguard was holding back, expecting the barbarian to defeat me with ease. The Orc threw the greatsword aside and pulled out two war axes coated in blood. Driven by a blood rage, he launched himself at me, swinging violently. Dovahgarde caught some blows, Qahnaarin parried fluidly, and the rest of the swings I managed to dodge. My shield arm was getting weak and the Orc was getting more and more enraged as he continued to miss his mark.

The Orc backed off from his swings and caught his breath. I lunged forward and planted Qahnaarin into his shoulder. The Orc fell to one knee. He tried to swing his axe over my shield to hit me across the face. However, Dovahgarde did its job and caught the blow. I pulled my blade from his shoulder and sent it into his throat. As I pulled the blade back out from the gaping hole in the Orc's throat, blood curdled and spewed out. The Orc fell into a crumpled heap at my feet.

Now the last Redguard charged at me. All I had now was Dovahgarde, but that was all I needed. The Redguard wielded two scimitars. He tried to scissor me in half with his swords. Both of them missed and I charged forward with Dovahgarde, planting the blunt edge of it into his face. He landed on his back, clutching his face with both of his hands as blood trickled out of it. I stepped over him and looked down on him. _FUS RO DAH!_ His head was slammed into the ground and dust echoed from the impact.

I looked around at my fallen enemies and felt less safe on the road. From there on in, I remained separated from the main road. I kept my distance from any marked highway until I finally reached the half destroyed city of Mournhold. Pillars of smoke towered over the shattered city. I had heard rumors that the land surrounding the city was suppose to be the most beautiful in all of Morrowind. But, from what I could see, it was the worst I had seen.

Regardless, I entered the walls of the city. Then, I started looking for my answers.


	7. Act 1: Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Morag Tong**

The gates of Mournhold were heavily guarded, but just as the patrols on the road saw no harm in letting me pass, neither did the Argonians at the gate. I passed into the city and saw a slum that worse than the Gray Quarter in Windhelm. Honestly, the one thing I could think of to make this city worth visiting was a brothel. And I'm not even fond of brothels.

Anyways, as soon as I entered the "busiest" part of the city, I got the strangest feeling that I was being watched. It wasn't the kind of watched I was hoping for. Most of the townsfolk who had seen me enter town kept their hatred-filled gazes on me because I was a Nord. However, I could feel the eyes of assassins watching me from the buildings. I had been hunted by Morag Tong before, as well as Thalmor and the Dark Brotherhood, but these assassins seemed different. These were Nightblades who had a vile bond with an entity from Oblivion.

Most Nightblades, like the ones that were stalking me, were masters of dark magic. I managed to notice one of them teleporting from the street to a rooftop to warn another of my actions. Being hunted by assassins for most of your life would give you a keen sense of having eyes in the back of your head. Noticing small things and movements can save your life in these troubling times.

I decided to make it hard for the Nightblades to follow me. I walked into the nearest pub that I could get to and sat at the bar. Several hours passed, I got a mug of ale in me and, after a while, recognized that hardly anyone was in the pub. There were four hooded figures in the back that I didn't have a good feeling about and the barkeep acted mysterious at times. Every now and then, he would ask me if I wanted another drink. When I said no, he continued to pressure me to get another mug.

Eventually, I decided to leave. When I walked over to the door and tried to grab the handle, I small knife made of steel pierced into the wood near the handle. I turned to see the four hooded figures standing from their table; all of them wielding weapons made of ebony. They threw their hoods back, revealing their golden skin and green eyes. They were Chimer.

One of them spoke up as he moved towards me. "Where you going, ice-brain?"

I looked at each of them, noticing that they were moving to encircle me. "Outside. What is it to you, bright-eyes?"

Another one spoke as he made sure his sword arm was warmed up by swinging it back and forth. "You aren't going anywhere, Dragonborn. At least, not on your own feet, you aren't."

"Leave me be or you will suffer." I put my hand on Qahnaarin and put a strong grip on Dovahgarde.

"You don't scare us."

"The last Nightblades went sent to stop you may have underestimated you, but we shall not." They got really close now. I could hear them breathing from how close they were.

"You already have." I wasted no more time talking to them. _IIZ SLEN NUS_! The icy wave of energy flowed over three of the Nightblades, freezing them in place. The fourth Nightblade charged towards me, already swinging his blade. Suddenly, a knife landed in the assassin's neck. He fell forward, already dead before he hit the floor. Another knife pierced through my left shoulder, throwing me into the door of the pub. I landed on the floor and pulled the knife out of my shoulder. I could feel a cold, sharp chill shoot up and down my body. Whatever toxin was put on the knife, it was making my head ring.

The barkeep appeared in from of me with a sword in his hand. I saw a symbol on the tip of the blade that was very familiar. I recognized it almost immediately. It was the mark of the Morag Tong.

"You're coming with me." he told me, just before he planted his boot in my face and darkness took me.


	8. Act 1: Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Mystery Dunmer**

"Wake up! Wake up! Nord scum!" I heard an old, groggy voice exclaim. I opened my eyes as quickly as I could and found myself in a dark room. The air felt damp and the floor smelt of fish. A small flicker of light shone through a crack in the wooden wall. A single window showed the ocean and the ash-filled sky in the background. I could make out a single figure in the darkness. He emerged slowly.

"Ahh, you are awake. Good." he stepped forward and revealed to me his face. He was as Dunmer as I had seen. "Who I am is not important, but, who you are, is very important to me and my associates. Plenty of people, including those Nightblades that we had to deal with would pay a hefty price for your head, Dragonborn."

"I'd pay you even more for you to let me go." I didn't have much money, but he didn't know that. As long as he believed me, I had a chance of getting out of my situation.

Sadly, these words were for naught as he spoke again. "Nice try, Dragonborn. Even though you probably could pay more, I would be setting a man free who has the ability and now the reasons to double cross me and obtain his revenge."

He paused for a while and paced the room. He pulled out a knife and started sharpening it. I went into deep thought, weighing my options. I knew my situation wasn't the best I have found myself in, but it certainly wasn't my worst. The only thing I figured I could ask this assassin now would be the identity of the Nightblades' leader.

"So, who are those assassins that you had to deal with? Who is their leader?" I asked, trying to catch my breath from the horrid smell of fish on the floor.

He turned back to look at me and back at his knife. "I know this much, those Nightblades aren't any elf I know of. A weird lot those ones are. As for their leader, and what faction they belong to, that I do not know. You should worry about your own skin and not worry about those golden-skinned backstabbers. They are the least of your worries now."

I was a little confused. "What do you mean?"

He turned back and walked up to me. He crouched down, resting on his feet. "There are rumors of a vengeful spirit that haunts all of Morrowind. Nobody knows who the spirit belongs to, but it doesn't matter. Wherever this thing goes, death and fear follows close behind." he paused, rising to his feet. "But, you don't need to worry about him. In fact, if it does come here, you can be a very useful bargaining chip. I can only imagine that-"

Another Morag Tong member entered the room, almost out of breath. "Boss, we've got a problem."

"Ugh! I highly doubt it's something we can't handle." he paused, paced a little, then continued. "What is it?"

"It's that spirit thing, boss. It's coming for us."

"What?!"

"We tried everything. We tried to kill him with swords, arrows, magic, nothing could stop him. He's on his way here, right now."

They met each other at the window. "And you let him get this far? You bumbling idiot! Well, I guess I'll to deal with him my-"

He was interrupted by a small dagger plunging into his throat. The second Morag Tong ran to the window to see where the dagger came from. He was met by a small arrow piercing through his eye. He fell to his knees and awaited death. A dark figure somersaulted into the room through the window. He pulled out a curved sword that I could've sworn I had seen somewhere before. With a blinding swing, he hewed the assassin's head clean off.

My vision darkened and I saw no more.

_-Somewhere else-_

I could feel the floor moving. The breeze was loud and the air itself felt at peace. It was almost as though I was on a boat. I finally came to and realized that my suspicions were correct. I was on a small ship in the middle of an ocean. The wood that the ship was made out of didn't look like any wood that I had seen before. As for where I was, well, I guess I would have to find out.

I got up from the long box that I was laying on, which had no cloth on it. Whoever put me on this thing didn't really care much for my comfort. I looked around and saw nothing but ocean. There was nobody on the ship. Not a single soul.

I picked myself up and got on my feet to walk around. I looked out in the direction of the stern, then the bow. "What in the name of Ysgramor. Where is the crew?"

"There is no crew." I turned around and looked up to see a figure resting on the housing section of the ship. He was wearing darkened robes and a mask covering his face. "It's just you and me, hero." he jumped down and started walking towards me.

I started to back away from him as he approached. I reached for my sheath to find it empty. "Where is my sword? Where am I? Who are you?"

"Don't worry, Dragonborn. You can trust me."

I wasn't buying it. "Oh really, it doesn't seem like it." I pointed out the two swords he still had sheathed, but had his hands on.

He stopped moving forward and stood still. "If I wanted you dead, I would have thrown you over the side, instead of making the ship comfortable for you."

I stopped, looked back and realized I was on the edge of the bow. One more step and I would have fallen right off the ship. "Then, what do you want?"

He pulled off his mask and revealed his worn, gray face. His red eyes revealed him as a Dunmer. "I need your help. My name is Azareth. There is someone who wants this world to suffer and you will help me stop him."

I scoffed. "And why would I get involved?"

I was within arm's reach of me now. "Because, he wants you dead just as much as I want him dead."

I was shocked. If this Dark Elf knew the identity of the one who wants me dead, then I had to help him. "And why do you want him dead? What did he ever do to you?"

He paused. He looked down at the deck and paced for a while. Whatever he was going to tell me, it was obviously hard for him to say. "His name is a curse upon the land of Morrowind, these days. He was once known as the Poet. I am the one who has been tasked with hunting him down for over two centuries now."

I remembered the ornate, curved sword from before and knew who he was. His sword was named Trueflame, which made the longer one that he also had Hopesfire.

He continued, but I already knew what he was going to say. "Dragonborn, I am the Nerevarine. The one I am hunting is Vivec, Lord of Pages."


End file.
